


Riot

by Fire_Bear



Series: PrUK Week 2017 [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Day 5, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, Police, Pruk Week 2017, Punk, Riots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Gilbert loves being a police officer; hates being in the riot squad when it's his turn. But it's his duty and he enters the fray - only to meethim.





	Riot

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know police procedure so let’s just pretend this is how they do things.

Even after going through university to get a degree in engineering, Gilbert knew he wanted to be a policeman. He'd always wanted to be one, figuring that it was the closest thing to being a knight in shining armour. Of course, his father, the Oxford physics professor, talked him into striving for a 'better' career. But, when Gilbert graduated and his father told him he could do what he wanted, he had jumped at the chance to become a policeman.

Now a Constable on the beat, Gilbert was delighted to deal with a variety of situations. From something as simple as giving tourists directions to arresting drunks on a Saturday night to standing outside a crime scene to make sure the public didn't get inside. He loved every minute of it: getting to chat with people on the street; arresting people who had committed crimes; keeping everyone safe. Even arresting drunks made him feel good, knowing he was putting them somewhere safe for the night and they weren't going to walk into traffic.

The only part he hated was when there was some sort of protest which devolved into a riot. He _hated_ having to scare or bully people, especially when they were protesting an important issue. Being sent to pick up his riot gear always sent a feeling of dread through him. Would he be in the middle of a bad one, with deaths on both sides? Would he be sitting in a van all day?

Usually it was the latter but on that particular day, they were deployed immediately.

Gilbert wasn't even sure who was protesting and for what. When they got to the square where the protest was taking place, there were people dressed in hoodies or in nondescript clothes. Others, however, were dressed in black and ripped jeans and chains and piercings. People were yelling and screaming. Some were waving large flags or banners. Others – mostly those in black – were throwing heavy things like bricks or glass bottles. Several fights had broken out with the officers already on the scene trying to pull them apart to no avail.

"It's a protest of a protest!" his Inspector told him. Inspector  Héderváry  glared at the mess in front of them, tugging harshly at her hair as she pinned her plait to her head. "We've to separate the drunk punks who crashed the party from the actual protesters and keep them from killing each other."

"What are they protesting about, again?" Gilbert asked, curiously.

Héderváry's expression turned dark. "Something stupid," she answered. She turned to the rest of them. "Right, you lot! Out you get – you know what to do!"

They all jumped from the van, the sound of many pairs of boots landing on the tarmac as they rushed across the road, their riot shields up and ready. Gilbert found himself at the back of the pack, Hérderváry behind him and Constable Vargas beside him. Vargas was scowling, as usual, keeping his grip on his baton tight.

"This'll be fun," Gilbert grumbled.

Vargas rolled his eyes. "This is such a stupid waste of time," he replied. "I want to be back at the station on my well-earned break."

"You never do anything," Gilbert protested.

That was all they could say to each other before they entered the fray, shunting their way forward as they cut a path between the punks and the protesters. Up close, the punks looked both kinds of pissed. Gilbert could only wonder at what had made them so angry. He didn't like the look of the protesters either: they looked like the kind of people he arrested for being drunk or high and shouting hate at ethnic minorities.

Eventually, they had a wall between the two warring parties. That didn't stop the punks from shouting abuse at the protesters and vice versa. Gilbert couldn't hear the words properly with all the noise. When the punks started shouting at the police and throwing things, Gilbert was glad he had the shield up. His back was covered by his colleagues and he wondered how long they'd have to stay there.

Suddenly, his shield jolted, hit by a kick from one of the punks. His eyes widened as he looked up and down their wall and saw that all of the punks had decided to attack the police. Other officers were attempting to wade through the chaos, arresting one person at a time to drag them off to the waiting vans. They would be of no help to Gilbert and the others as the punks began to kick and punch and shove them backwards. 

Before Gilbert knew it, the line was breaking and officers were hard pressed to defend themselves from the punks. Beside him, an officer fell to the ground and a man lifted his foot to stomp on him. Instinctively, Gilbert flicked out his baton and swung it at the leg he stood on. The man fell and the officer managed to scramble to his feet – just in time as another man came barrelling into his shield.

Unfortunately, Gilbert didn't have time to help him for another person started hitting at his shield with a baseball bat. Where the guy had managed to find one was a mystery but he was relentless, forcing Gilbert backwards as he flinched with each hit. Trying to keep his shield steady, he reached around to hit him on the leg with his baton. But the bat was heavier and thicker and the baton wad not really designed to be used against another weapon: it flew from his hand and landed several feet away where it was immediately scooped up by another punk.

Shocked, Gilbert momentarily forgot the attack and was caught off guard when the bat hit his shield once again. He stumbled backwards and his foot caught on something hard, toppling him. His back hit the ground with such force that his breath was knocked from him and his shield arm was flung out, leaving the shield lying uselessly on the ground. As he gasped and coughed, trying to force his body to move, the man with the bat stepped up to him, the weapon raised. Gilbert's eyes widened, wondering if his protective gear would actually keep him from being killed.

He never found out. The man was suddenly spun around and, as he lowered his arms, he fell to the side, apparently unconscious. Behind him stood another man, hand clenched in a fist and dressed in tight, black jeans with holes at the knees and what appeared to be a black leather jacket. His blond hair was sandy in colour and badly ruffled. He had rather large, bushy eyebrows, one of which was pierced by what looked like a metal bar. A ring pierced his lip which his tongue nervously flicked out to spin. Their eyes met and Gilbert realised that his were green, dulled from alcohol by the looks of things. He gave Gilbert a nod and turned, rushing away into the crowd again.

Gilbert stared after him, stunned and unmoving. Time seemed to have stopped until someone tripped over his foot and he remembered where he was. Then he struggled to his feet and looked for the Inspector in order to regroup.

* * *

Later, once it was all over, Gilbert learnt that all the punks had been arrested – none had been allowed to leave the square. Quite a lot of protesters were arrested as well. They were all sent to different police stations to be processed, including Gilbert's own.

When he walked into the station, eager to get his gear off and back to the streets for a more calming few hours of work, the sergeant on the desk stopped him. "Gil, Alfred's called in sick," said Matthew, apologetically. "Is there any chance you can help process all those people from the riot? Please?"

Having never been able to resist the puppy dog eyes, Gilbert reluctantly agreed and hurried off to get into his uniform. Once he had, he was soon going from cell to cell, bringing them to a desk and asking them some simple information. Some of the information he gleaned from them was not of consequence, of course, and were mainly insults. Gilbert had to refrain from writing 'Dickhead' in the name slot several times.

Finally, there was only one more to do and he would be done for the day – other than his own report, at least. He strode down to the cell with another sergeant who unlocked the door for him. And, for the second time that day, Gilbert was stunned, staring at the man who had saved him from the bat. He seemed surprised as well. But he blinked those green eyes – now a little brighter and shining with intelligence – and was soon smirking.

"Good evening, Constable," he said.

Frowning, Gilbert glanced at the sergeant who shrugged. Then he shook his head and gestured at the man. "Come on. I have to take down your details."

"Can't we do it in here?" he asked, his smirk growing and his eyes glinting.

A shiver ran down Gilbert's spine which startled him. Narrowing his eyes, he explained, "I need to do it at a computer."

"Ah, I see," said the man. "A slave to technology like the rest of us." He stood and paused, waiting for Gilbert to turn so he could follow.

The sergeant placed handcuffs on him as Gilbert held the next door open for them. Then he watched them on their way to the desk in case the prisoner had any ideas about making a break for freedom. Of course, whoever he was, the man merely sat down on the chair, shifting around until he was lounging in it, butt at the edge of the seat and an arm hooked over the back of it. He reminded Gilbert of himself when he was at high school or university.

"All right," Gilbert said, opening a new file. "Name?"

"Arthur Bedivere Kirkland."

Gilbert paused. "Bedivere?" he asked, merely to confirm. "As in... Knight of the Round Table?" When he realised how rude he had been, he hastened to add, "Just so I know the spelling."

Grinning, Arthur nodded. "The. Very. Same," he said slowly, his tongue flicking out over his lip ring. This time, Gilbert saw the glint of silver from within his mouth, as if he was chewing on a small star; evidently, Arthur had a tongue piercing.

"Right," said Gilbert quickly, refusing to acknowledge the strange feelings he had upon his new discovery. He quickly typed it in. "Well, Mister Kirkland, date of birth?"

"Call me Arthur," he insisted with a twitch of his lips in amusement. "It's the twenty-third of April, Nineteen Ninety-Five."

As he typed it in, Gilbert worked out his age. "Aren't you a bit young for...?" He trailed off, eyeing the t-shirt he could see under the jacket. "Is that The Clash?"

"Yeah." Arthur seemed amused, watching Gilbert. "You a fan?"

Blinking, Gilbert shook his head and turned to the form again. "Place of residence?" he asked. Arthur only shrugged a shoulder in response. "You don't know? Or are you homeless?"

Arthur shook his head. "I live in student halls. Or, I did. It's the end of the year and I'll be going home but, as soon as I can find a cheap flat, I'm out of there. Maybe before I find a flat."

"I'll have to put your parents' address," said Gilbert, trying to tamp down his curiosity. Why would Arthur want to leave home so quickly? Was he on bad terms with his parents? Was he being abused? Were the parents homophobic?

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand in order to stop himself from thinking about Arthur's sexuality.

Once he'd put in the address, though, he realised those were the next questions. "I, uh, need a gender and sexuality, if you're comfortable with that."

"Male, bi," said Arthur, simply. "Though, today, I think I'm swinging more towards men."

Gilbert couldn't stop himself from looking up at that smirk. He cleared his throat and hit the enter button to see if Arthur had any priors. When nothing came up, he filled in the details of the crime and situation before he looked at him again. Arthur seemed to be bored by that point, slouching further and looking around the room. Gilbert took a moment to really look at him, noting the slight downturn of his lips, the furrow in his brow, how his eyes glistened. This wasn't a criminal, he realised. In fact, he doubted Arthur had even wanted to be in the square, had probably been pressured into attending. Gilbert hoped he'd get off lightly.

"I need to take your statement," he said, softer than he'd intended.

Looking up, Arthur nodded solemnly. Then he began his tale. Just as Gilbert had suspected, it looked as though Arthur had met up with some friends he'd met on his gap year when he was travelling. They'd been having fun on a pub crawl when they'd come across the protesters. Arthur had wanted to get to the next pub since he'd needed to pee but the others had decided to stay put and tell the protesters what they thought of them. After he'd excused himself and hurried off to the closest toilet, Arthur had returned to find the place in a mess. He'd tried to convince the ringleaders to leave it alone and go home but nobody listened to him. Then the fighting started and he'd tried to keep out of it as much as possible, only stepping in when someone seemed to be going too far. He'd been arrested and that was that.

Having dutifully typed in the last few words, Gilbert hit the print button and waited for the old, rickety printer to cough its way into life. "Thank you, by the way," he said as they waited. "I think you might have saved my life."

"Not really," Arthur mumbled. "All I did was punch my friend who is, apparently, a tosser."

Stifling a laugh, Gilbert told himself to focus. What else did he need to do? As he surveyed Arthur, he wondered when the last time he'd eaten had been. Did he even have enough money for food? Especially if he was buying alcohol, too... "Do you need anything? Water? Sandwich from the vending machine?"

Arthur blinked at him, clearly surprised. It took him a second to regain his composure but then he said, "A drink would be good... The water's free right?"

"And, for you, the sandwich is, too. Hang on." Gilbert looked up and around the room which was apparently empty now. Everyone else had probably gone for their breaks. However, the door suddenly opened and Matthew walked in. "Mattie!" he cried in delight. "Any chance you can bring me a drink and a sandwich?"

Matthew looked between them and, with a kind smile at Arthur, nodded. Then he left them alone with a silence which seemed heavy. Arthur was the one to break it. "Thanks," he muttered, chin tucked into his chest.

"Not a problem, Arthur. You look like you need it."

"Yeah."

Silence fell again.

"What are you doing at uni?" Gilbert asked as he stood to pick up the form he'd forgotten about. He returned to the desk and looked for a pen.

"English Literature and Creative Writing," Arthur answered, accepting the pen to sign the statement. "It's fun, so far."

"'Creative Writing', huh? What do you write about?"

"This and that," Arthur answered. "I tried writing a murder mystery this semester but I gave up and went back to fantasy."

"Why'd you give up?" asked Gilbert, chin in his hand, watching Arthur practically unfurl. He straightened in his chair a bit, dropped his arm and faced Gilbert fully.

For the first time since he'd met Arthur, Gilbert saw him blush. It was a dainty thing, a little pinking of the skin along his cheekbones. Gilbert felt it belonged more on a young woman than on what looked like a hardened punk. Most of all, though, it was beautiful and Gilbert struggled not to feel embarrassed as well.

"I, erm," said Arthur, hesitantly. "I wanted the main character to be a, well, a policeman. Not a detective, I mean," he added, hastily. "Just... a constable... whose friend is murdered but no-one believes him because the time of the death is wrong and it looks like a suicide. But I wasn't too sure on the correct police procedure..."

"I could help you out," said Gilbert without thinking.

"What?" Arthur's eyes widened and he perked up so much that he was no longer slouching. "What do you mean?"

"Er." Gilbert didn't really know himself. He wasn't entirely sure why he had such a strong urge to help the student. Maybe he reminded Gilbert of himself at university. Maybe it was something more. But he had to think of something to save face... "I could meet you in Il Suo Pasto – it's an Italian restaurant a few streets away. After you get out, of course. If you'd like."

Slowly, a smirk formed on Arthur's face. Gilbert could feel himself starting to blush, his face definitely on fire. "Mm," said Arthur, eyes lowering so that he was looking up at Gilbert from under his eyelashes. "Sounds like you're asking me on a date. Got a pen and paper?"

"Um," said Gilbert, intelligently. He looked around for a spare sheet before remembering his notebook and pulling it from his shirt pocket. As he handed it over, he heard the door behind him open and he jumped in surprise, turning to see Matthew returning with a cup of water and a sandwich laid out on a plate. "Ah," he said. "Thanks, Mattie."

"No problem," said Matthew, handing the items over to Gilbert. "I'm going on my break now, okay?"

"Right."

Once he was gone, Gilbert turned back to Arthur to find him handing back the pad and pen. "It's in the back," he said by way of explanation.

"What is?" Gilbert asked, handing over the meagre meal.

Arthur only grinned. "You'll find out," he said, at the exact moment the far door opened and the sergeant in charge of the cells came looking for his misplaced prisoner. As he led Arthur away, reluctantly letting him keep his food, Gilbert gave in to his curiosity and flipped open his notebook. There, in neat handwriting and a note to 'call me', was Arthur's number.

**Author's Note:**

> They have a lovely ‘date’ where they flirt but don’t acknowledge it and Arthur essentially interrogates Gilbert on the intricacies of the justice system.
> 
> I was gonna add a bonus bit where it’s a few months later and, though they’re not dating and they don’t really start for a while afterwards, they have their first kiss and Gilbert likes it. ;) But then it was getting a bit long and I decided it was best just to end it here. It was also going to involve Arthur wearing glasses and changing his lip ring to a green coloured one which would draw the eye - or Gilbert’s eyes at least - from Arthur’s eyes to his lips.
> 
> Just in case: Arthur’s 20 and Gilbert’s, like, 24/25?


End file.
